The Works of Aphra Behn, Volume 3 | Page 6

very fashionable
Wife, having so much Beauty too. I see Attracts, and Allurements,
wanton Eyes, the languishing turn of the Head, and all That invites to
Temptation.
Cel. Would that please you in a Wife?
Sir Tim. Please me! Why, Madam, what do you take me to be? a Sot?--
a Fool?--or a dull Italian of the Humour of your Brother?--No, no, I can
assure you, she that marries me, shall have Franchise--But, my pretty
Miss, you must learn to talk a little more--
Cel. I have not Wit, and Sense enough, for that.
Sir Tim. Wit! Oh la, O la, Wit! as if there were any Wit requir'd in a
Woman when she talks; no, no matter for Wit, or Sense: talk but loud,
and a great deal to shew your white Teeth, and smile, and be very
confident, and 'tis enough--Lord, what a Sight 'tis to see a pretty
Woman Stand right up an end in the middle of a Room, playing with
her Fan, for want of something to keep her in Countenance. No, she
that is mine, I will teach to entertain at another rate.
Nur. How, Sir? Why, what do you take my young Mistress to be?

Sir Tim. A Woman--and a fine one, and so fine as she ought to permit
her self to be seen, and be ador'd.
Nur. Out upon you, would you expose your Wife? by my troth, and I
were she, I know what I wou'd do--
Sir Tim. Thou do--what thou wouldst have done sixty Years ago, thou
meanest.
Nur. Marry come up, for a stinking Knight; worse than I have gone
down with you, e'er now--Sixty Years ago, quoth ye--As old as I am-- I
live without Surgeons, wear my own Hair, am not in Debt to my Taylor,
as thou art, and art fain to kiss his Wife, to persuade her Husband to be
merciful to thee--who wakes thee every Morning with his Clamour and
long Bills, at thy Chamber-door.
Sir Tim. Prithee, good Matron, Peace; I'll compound with thee.
Nur. 'Tis more than thou wilt do with thy Creditors, who, poor Souls,
despair of a Groat in the Pound for all thou ow'st them, for Points, Lace,
and Garniture--for all, in fine, that makes thee a complete Fop.
Sir Tim. Hold, hold thy eternal Clack.
Nur. And when none would trust thee farther, give Judgments for twice
the Money thou borrowest, and swear thy self at Age; and lastly--to
patch up your broken Fortune, you wou'd fain marry my sweet Mistress
Celinda here--But, Faith, Sir, you're mistaken, her Fortune shall not go
to the Maintenance of your Misses; which being once sure of, she, poor
Soul, is sent down to the Country-house, to learn Housewifery, and live
without Mankind, unless she can serve her self with the handsom
Steward, or so--whilst you tear it away in Town, and live like Man and
Wife with your Jilt, and are every Day seen in the Glass Coach, whilst
your own natural Lady is hardly worth the Hire of a Hack.
Sir Tim. Why, thou damnable confounded Torment, wilt thou never
cease?

Nur. No, not till you raise your Siege, and be gone; go march to your
Lady of Love, and Debauch--go--You get no Celinda here.
Sir Tim. The Devil's in her Tongue.
Cel. Good gentle Nurse, have Mercy upon the poor Knight.
Nur. No more, Mistress, than he'll have on you, if Heaven had so
abandon'd you, to put you into his Power--Mercy--quoth ye--no--, no
more than his Mistress will have, when all his Money's gone.
Sir Tim. Will she never end?
Cel. Prithee forbear.
Nur. No more than the Usurer would, to whom he has mortgag'd the
best part of his Estate, would forbear a Day after the promis'd Payment
of the Money. Forbear!--
Sir Tim. Not yet end! Can I, Madam, give you a greater Proof of my
Passion for you, than to endure this for your sake?
Nur. This--thou art so sorry a Creature, thou wilt endure any thing for
the lucre of her Fortune; 'tis that thou hast a Passion for: not that thou
carest for Money, but to sacrifice to thy Leudness, to purchase a
Mistress, to purchase the Reputation of as errant a Fool as ever arriv'd
at the Honour of keeping; to purchase a little Grandeur, as you call it;
that is, to make every one look at thee, and consider what a Fool thou
art, who else might pass unregarded amongst the common Croud.
Sir Tim. The Devil's in her Tongue, and so 'tis in most Women's of her
Age; for when it has quitted the Tail, it repairs to her upper Tire.
Nur. Do not persuade me, Madam, I am resolv'd to make him weary of
his Wooing.
Sir Tim. So,